Come What May
by altairattorney
Summary: Never forget what you have seen, Asterix. The future is barely as dangerous as it is scary. Those who take advantage of that fear, on the other hand… they are danger on two legs.
**Come What May**

"Say, Panoramix. Are we going to be alright?"

The shadow that has spoken crouches nearby, at the edge of the druid's field of vision. Panoramix doesn't follow much of its movements; as it usually happens, he is too engrossed in his work to turn around. Brewing the potion is a sacred ritual – it leaves just enough room to see a bent head, downward and pensive, and catch the light swing of dangling legs.

A moment later, he must devote the whole of his attention to the cauldron again. Nimble fingers cut the perfect dose of fennel to smithereens, to drop it in the broth like a thick green dust. His eyes do not move; to guess what is going on, he has no need to look in Asterix's direction.

"Who am I to tell, my boy?"

He draws a long breath, part resignation, part disgust. Beneath the scales, the fish he prepared has rotted again. Someone is in for a good scolding.

"Not even I can predict the future, you know."

He moves the cauldron away from the fire. The boiling of the compound melts away, leaving room to a steamy resting state. Time to take care of the garlic.

Once he has grabbed some handfuls of slices, Panoramix is free to walk away. He scuttles towards the bench, his apron full, polishing a thin silver knife.

From time to time, the druid feels he could forget just how long ago Asterix grew out of childhood. His posture, his gaze, those are things he hasn't left behind. The resemblance to his younger self stands out the most when he is worried – an event become rarer over the years, yet not so much now.

These are difficult months, as everyone knows. Though nobody spelt out in whose hands the fate of the village rests, everyone knows that, too. Simply, the bearers of that burden carry it in silence. And silence hangs between them, for even longer minutes.

When Asterix lifts his head to talk, he does so with the troubled care of whoever is about to say something forbidden. After the recent events, to voice his opinion has become a risk – the breaking of a vow, towards himself and the others. But what his instinct whispers to him is a calling he was never able to ignore.

Thus he gathers his courage, and speaks anyway; because there, among the four walls Panoramix dwells in, he is allowed to say anything he may have on his mind. The gods have his eternal gratitude for that.

"I am not saying this rebellion is hopeless," he begins, sounding discouraged all the same. "By Toutatis, I wouldn't want it to be. Yet… I have been thinking, o druid, about the last few years and the changes they brought along. I wonder…"

Leaving the freshly peeled garlic alone, the druid looks up. Asterix stares at the shine of the blade, in its repetitive motion. Panoramix understands he is struggling with heavy words – and he waits, ever patient.

"Will another bloodshed be of any use? Is there a meaning in fighting back, at this point? Because… every time I focus on it, I have a feeling some events in life are too great to handle. So greater than us, we can't even see all of them. And in this case, to be honest, I am no longer sure which plans are or aren't worth putting into practice."

Asterix does not show signs of wanting to add anything. In those suspended instants, the illusion shifts in Panoramix's eyes. He no longer resembles an inexperienced leader – he looks tired now, older, burdened with the weight of seeing farther than most do.

He stands up, agile as usual. From that motion, not a single bone seems to have aged in his slender body. Expert hands roam the wooden surfaces all around – they linger on familiar spots, to collect branches and leaves, mistletoe and thyme.

"Listen, Asterix," he finally answers, stirring his potion with a long brazen ladle. "Listen well. I have lived much longer than most of us, and by the time I was your age I had already seen half of the world. My studies led me far and wide, way before Caesar brought his destruction upon us. Well…"

Panoramix gets lost in long hums of approval, as he admires the way the vapors spiral up. It should be ready now. He pours the potion – no more than a few drops, ever.

Before he can lift it to his lips, a change of heart stops him. In the end, a rare exception to his strict routine couldn't hurt.

Instead of testing the outcome right away, as he always does, the druid walks back to the bench, so he can sit by Asterix's side. With a grave expression on his face, he points at the content of the clay bowl.

"You know what this is," he tells him. It is not a question. "The potion our freedom depends on. You can certainly figure it out by yourself. When do you believe I started improving on its formula?"

He focuses on tasting the liquid, leaving Asterix some time to think it through. Perfect – just a little too salty, maybe.

"It must have been because of a great danger," the young warrior replies, after a long, thoughtful pause. "You wouldn't have created anything this powerful without a very good reason to do so."

Panoramix's smile has not been this wide in several days. He makes no effort to hide it; he nods appreciatively instead. This boy, by the gods, what an endless surprise he is.

"You got it," he confirms. "It was not part of our teachings, of course. It was a theory – that one bizarre theory of my youth, which would forever remain an idea. So I thought, at least. My journey across the Alps, many decades ago, changed my mind. I got serious about it the moment I fully understood what the Roman culture was capable of."

They fall silent again, as if in serene agreement. While the druid walks back to the cauldron, Asterix's mind wanders to the Arvernian land, where the chief and his men went to meet whatever fate awaits them. He remembers their small flasks of potion, praying that they may last long enough. He sighs.

Then, without a warning, he lights up in recollection, and his frown melts in laughter.

It is a little quieter than usual, yet heartfelt. Panoramix almost drops the ladle in surprise.

"What is it, Asterix? What's so funny?"

Although his answer holds a touch of bitterness, he sounds relieved.

"O druid, and you say you cannot predict the future…"

"I say!" Panoramix exclaims, smiling once more. "To predict the future and to prepare for it are two very different things. You won't ask me which one of the two is possible, will you?"

"You aren't wrong," Asterix replies. "It's just… you reminded me of something, there."

"Really? Reminded you of what?"

With a light chuckle, the warrior curls up to embrace his knees. As he cleans up the counter and the tools, Panoramix watches him reminisce. He can almost see the scene grow, touch after touch, under his bushy hair.

 _Some habits stick with you always_ , he muses with affection.

"It was when we escorted the chief to the last inn," Asterix says, his voice softer and focused. "The night before Obelix and I returned. We had to part ways in the morning. The others had fallen asleep early, but I couldn't do it, no matter how I tried. Too nervous. I went back downstairs – I was cold – but then, once I got there, I found a crowd so enormous I almost couldn't enter the hall."

"At such a late hour? How could that be?"

"It wasn't late, but not quite the sunset either. I cannot tell what time it was – I just suppose most people are used to sleeping by then. I got curious. I tried to see what the fuss was about. And in their middle, next to the fireplace, there was this man…"

He crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands, seemingly doing his best to convey the atmosphere. Panoramix snickers at the dramatic gesture.

"Huddled against the wall, thin. Possibly even shorter than me. A barely noticeable presence, and yet they were hanging on his every word. He said he was… a soothsayer, an open door on the future. Able to peer into the depths of what was to come. I did what I could to pass unnoticed – not that it's difficult. And I sat in a corner, close enough to hear his predictions. I listened to him… I wonder how long. Maybe hours."

Without losing his composure, taken in the delicate task of pouring the potion inside numerous flasks, the druid snorts.

"Did you need to fall asleep _that_ bad?"

This time, Asterix laughs from the heart.

"I suppose I did, at first. But it got interesting, in a way. To me, it was so… hard to believe, that an entire crowd could fall for it all at once."

Without speaking, Panoramix twirls one of the flask caps between his fingers. He reflects on the present. Learning is achieved through testing and traps, and he is not the type to pass up such a good opportunity.

He changes his tone to a light note, yet sounding completely serious.

"Well, couldn't he have been right?"

"Right? How?"

"In terms of ancient magic, there will be new secrets to be unearthed until the end of time, my boy. And if someone else got to this result, well… why take their being liars as a given?"

"Come on, you know it can't be, Panoramix."

Satisfied, he turns around to meet the sight of his brightest pupil to date. No matter how sure he is to find it, it never ceases to console him. So dear he holds the gleam of his gaze, half mischief, half inspiration – it always was the bearer of good news, even under the most troubling circumstances.

He could have done without it, after all. Such a shoddy test is no match for Asterix.

"O druid, the future doesn't give _anyone_ exactly what they want. Let alone all of those people! Between the future and greed, which is more likely to make alluring promises?"

"A sweet-talking buffoon, my dear Asterix. But of course. I can only imagine how boring it must have been for you."

"It wasn't that bad of a lesson in misleading. I _did_ fall asleep there, though."

For the first time in weeks, it feels as if the ground of the hut were shaking with laughter. That freeing, cheerful sound ends in generous tears.

"Just imagine," Asterix wheezes, retaking control of his voice. "Imagine what the world would be like if the gods wanted us to foresee their plans. If nothing else… we would all be soothsayers."

Shaken by cackling, Panoramix plops down on the bench again. Little by little, his breathing evens out as well. A radiant expression takes control of his features right away.

"My word, young man. Sometimes I think you were born knowing all there is to know about life."

His voice is proud and affectionate. Still, Asterix says nothing. They sit side by side for a few moments, in wordless recognition, without needing to add anything else.

When the druid speaks again, it is to fix a lesson learnt, for the years to come.

"Never forget what you have seen, Asterix. The future is barely as dangerous as it is scary. Those who take advantage of that fear, on the other hand… they are danger on two legs."

Out there, their tomorrow still looks fearsome, and they are both aware of it. Their lives move in the direction of battles to be fought, of worlds changing, of men and women come from afar. They exist in an age of novelties – as any human era is and will be, for those who have the ability to see it.

However, Panoramix wades through it all with ease, strengthened by wisdom and experience. He seals the last round flask, feeling the smooth leather between its seams, and walks away from the table.

At last, out of unchanged habit, he delivers it in the hands of his most valiant warrior. He doesn't forget to smile.

"I understand," he replies, addressing something which was never voiced. "But if I were you, my boy, I wouldn't worry too much about that solid piece of rock we have for a chief."

* * *

 _A work in progress of months, finally finished. It all began from a simple observation: in The Soothsayer (Le Devin), Asterix is the only one who doesn't fall for Prolix's lies. Why? Because, of course, Panoramix isn't home, or we would make that two. It really stuck with me how fast Asterix dismissed his predictions as the not-too-elaborate inventions they were, and how fast he reminded the villagers about Panoramix's certain lack of approval for their credulity. So… I wanted to give them a chance to discuss the same topic, in a completely different setting than the peaceful atmosphere of the series – in 52 a.C., during Vercingetorix's revolt, with Abraracourcix, Agecanonix and other fighters gone to war far from the village. The two of them, strongest protectors of their home, keep each other company and talk about life._


End file.
